


Fly, fly, honey don't cry

by starrelia



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Cisgender, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, urinating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrelia/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tugs at the rope holding his arms above his head, at the ropes keeping him in a bedroom that Rhys does not recognise, and he finally looks over to the door when a very familiar man walks in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly, fly, honey don't cry

His hands are tied up above him when Rhys wakes up, and his limbs are heavy with exhaustion and more. He tugs at the ropes, and notices with a growing panic that his cybernetic arm isn’t actually  _responding_ to his movements. His breaths are coming in and out, quick and short and anxious, and his eyes dart around to figure out where he actually _is._

There’s a dresser to his left, a door right next to it, and there are tables on either side of him. He shifts around ever so slightly, his body heavy and aching, and he gasps as pain shoots through him. It gathers at the back of his head and grows and grows, and Rhys whimpers as he lets himself fall back onto the—

The pillow… beneath him?

He’s in a bedroom. Oh shit, he’s in someone’s bedroom—the fading panic begins to grow and grow in him, until it finally bursts and he ends up yelling. He kicks at the sheets and tries to force his arms to work and tear away from whatever is tying him to the headboard, but he can’t seem to get away.

“Damn it— _damn it, damn it, **come on!”**_ Rhys yells out, to no one in particular, and he continues to try and tear his arms apart – even when his cybernetic one isn’t responding. _Why?_ What’s going—oh god, it’s out of charge isn’t it?

Swallowing audibly, Rhys tries to forcing his breathing to calm down because this— _this isn’t helping anybody right now._ Especially not- _not him_ that’s for sure. He goes lax, tries to remember what happened, and he flinches when the forgotten pain from before makes itself known.

“Nooononono,” he exhales out, his chest rising and falling in heavy, deep breaths, and he closes his eyes shut. “This can’t be happening, this can’t be—“

The door to the room opens and Rhys tries to sit up—though it’s a tad difficult, and he ends up just lying there instead. He raises his head to try and look at the door, and his eyes widen when he—“J-John?” he whimpers out, “what am I-“

“Nah, kiddo,” John says while just standing there, wearing his signature jacket and sweater, and he regards Rhys coolly. He crosses his arms in front of him and tilts his head back, looking down on him, and Rhys shivers. “Name’s Jack.” He strides over to Rhys and kneels on the bed, one hand coming up to cup his face. “How are ya? Heard you yellin’ ‘round in here. You’re so damn _noisy.”_

“Why— _why_ am I in your bedroom!?” Rhys barks out, and something in Jo- Jack grows stony at that. “Let me _go!_ Let me out—lemme— lemme charge my arm, and whatever the hell happened that made you tie me up-“

“This’s the guest room, princess. And also; nah.” Jack says, and Rhys doesn’t know why he didn’t notice this before—really, he thinks that knowing Jack this long would let him know if he ever had _clasps_ on his face. “Don’t think so.” He doesn’t say anything else after that, and Rhys wants to _punch him._

He steels himself and grits his teeth, tugs at the rope (he’s going to have such bad rope burns) with his flesh hand, and glares at Jack. “Let me _go!_ ” he demands, and Jack reaches out and cupping his face. At the oddly tender stroke of his thumb on his cheek, Rhys ends up faltering as he stutters out his next question. “Wh-why won’t you let me go?”

Jack grins toothily at him, revealing teeth that look far too sharp to be normal and Rhys stiffens up. The hand on his face moves to grab at both his cheeks and he’s yanked up and close to Jack; he can feel his _breath_ on his own face. “Jack?” he calls out softly, something sickening grabbing at his chest, and Jack squeezes him painfully.

“Always did wonder how my name’d sound if you said it.” Jack murmurs, distracted, and Rhys inhales sharply. “Anyway! I gotta go now, pumpkin, I have an entire company to run-“

“Wait! Wait—what does—what does that even _mean!?”_

“Didn’t ya hear, Rhysie? I’m the CEO of Hyperion! Handsome goddamn Jack, baby!” he laughs his words out, something high-pitched and energetic weaving in between words and Rhys looks up at Jack like a deer caught in the headlights. “But _yoooou_ don’t hafta worry about anythin’, sweetheart, because I’m gonna take care of ya.”

Just like that, Jack slips away, and Rhys is left alone in the bedroom. His eyes are wide, staring at the open door, and he wants to yell out for Jack to _come back._

But…

* * *

He falls in and out of sleep throughout the rest of the day, because Jack doesn’t come back at all. He’s tired, hungry, and he’s getting the urge to _really_ go to the bathroom right now.  He shifts around, swallows to try and soothe his dry throat, and his stomach gurgles and clenches.

The ceiling is an… unimpressive looking thing, but Rhys has nothing else to look at and nothing else to do. He closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, to at least will the hunger away and ignore his aching bladder, but he’s interrupted by the sound of rambunctious laughter. He winces when he tries to sit up again and, instead, lies in wait for Jack to come back to his bedroom.

He’s _still_ angry at him, but he’s hungrier than anything else in the entire world. Footsteps start to get louder and louder near the bedroom, and the other open door is slammed against the wall as Jack makes his entrance-

The lights are flipped on, and Rhys chokes on whatever words that want to escape.

Jack’s covered in blood. He’s—wearing different clothes, too, and it’s _soaked_ in blood. Rhys can’t speak because that is just _a lot of blood._ It’s soaking into Jack’s clothes, painting them so vividly, and Rhys is practically hyperventilating when he gets closer and closer to him.

“ _Heeeeey there,_ princess!” Jack sings, his voice high and happy, and Rhys tries to scramble away. Bloody hands grab at his face, force him to look at Jack and his grinning face, and Rhys’s mouth falls open. “Ohhoo look at you- already all prepped up for me, huh? Been so lonely down here.”

He shakes his head, and Jack’s lips twitch and he raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then what’re you feelin’, Rhys?”

Swallowing, he wills himself to speak and tries not to let the stench of blood distract him. “I need—to eat. And the bathroom. I need the bathroom.” He manages out, voice shaky despite his best attempts, and Jack just looks him over for a bit.

“You need to take a piss, kid?” Much to his shame, Rhys ends up nodding at that, and Jack clicks his tongue and tilts his head. “So?”

“S-so… so what?”

“So what’re you waiting for? _Go.”_

His eyes widen and he shakes his head, or at least tries to while Jack is holding him, and the man is laughing at Rhys’s rejection. “Kitten, I ain’t giving you a choice. You either go _here,_ or you don’t go at all. Here, lemme make the choice easier for ya.” A large hand presses at his abdomen, right over his bladder, and begins to apply pressure when Jack says that, and Rhys yelps.

“C’mon, then.” Jack sings, completely unbothered by what he’s doing, and Rhys wants to slap him. He really does. But he can’t focus, especially not when Jack keeps pressing and pressing at him, and it’s starting to _hurt_ with how much he’s—

He lets out a pathetic sob and presses his legs together as urine seeps out, and he closes his eyes when tears begin to slip out. His entire chest feels hot, and his face is _burning._ Jack’s laughter only adds to it, only adds to the disgust that’s flipping in his stomach and to the flaming hot shame that spreads across his face and neck. “ _No,_ nono, that’s—“ he can’t even finish his sobbed out sentence, and Jack’s thumb is wiping away his tears.

“See, now we gotta clean you up,” he says simply, as though he didn’t just force Rhys to piss himself, and he’s flicking out a knife. He cuts the rope off of Rhys’s wrists, and his cybernetic arm falls flat and heavy onto the bed. Tsking, Jack moves to the table next to the bed and grabs at an unlatching tool.

His eyes widen. Now that he’s free, he attempts to shove himself away from Jack but a large hand grabs at his cybernetic arm and yanks him back. “You’re not going _anywhere,_ pumpkin,” he hears a growl near his ear as he’s yanked close to Jack, and he turns his head to be faced with a _very_ angry expression.

“You do that again, and I’m shovin’ you into your own piss.” At that, Rhys pales and goes still. He looks away from Jack, tries not to focus on the smell in the room or the uncomfortable cling to his thighs, tries not to focus on the sounds near his arm and tries to think of ways to get away.

But nothing comes to mind, and Jack’s unlatching his arm and he throws it away, careless, and Rhys closes his eyes tight at the sound it makes as it lands on the ground.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

Jack has his feet chained to the bed now, and Rhys keeps pressing his hand against his empty side. He curls up and stares at the chain, takes in the length of it, and sighs.

It’s enough to let him get off whenever the C134N3R-BOT comes over to fix up whatever mess he made thanks to Jack, and he buries his face into the pillow to ignore the new, daily humiliation he has to deal with.

Jack won’t let him go to the bathroom unless it’s to shower or to take a shit, and a small C134N3R-BOT always follows after him to make sure he’s extra clean. He doesn’t get to have much privacy, and he moves his feet absentmindedly to comfort in the clinking that follows after.

His stomach hurts. He closes his eyes and breathes in and out, a knot forming in his throat as anxiety grows in him like a parasite, and he wonders what he did to even _warrant_ this treatment.

Rhys… didn’t do anything, right? He dated Jack, it didn’t work out [or so he thinks], and they broke up on good terms.

So… what exactly happened, then? Jack’s wearing a mask, he’s the CEO of Hyperion, and he keeps coming back with blood on his shoes and in his hair, reeking of death and anger and lust, and he never tells Rhys anything.

He opens his eyes to stare up at the ceiling for a bit, and he gets off when he hears the familiar voice of the C134N3R-BOT asking him to get off of the bed. Rhys ignores the loader behind him as it works and presses down on the missing arm, on where there’s nothing but plating and disconnected wires, and he tries not to puke.

* * *

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Jack calls out, and Rhys jolts awake at the sound of his voice. He kicks at the bed and scrambles to shove the blanket off, the banging of his chains only serving to increase his panic as he tries to sit up for Jack. The man’s marching into the guest’s room, looking as clean as a whistle yet there’s a cruel grin on his face.

He has killed someone, and Rhys wants to shrink away and also yell at Jack for it. He breathes in and out, tries to soothe his frantically beating heart, and he looks up at Jack when he makes his way over to Rhys. He kneels on the bed, stares at him with pearly whites showing and his entire body tense, and Rhys doesn’t know what to make of Jack right now.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “lookin’ so damn pretty for me. You hungry right now, kiddo?” Rhys shakes his head, and Jack tsks. “Can’t have you goin’ without breakfast now, can we?”

He looks down at Jack’s legs. “No.” he says, a bit too forcefully because Jack’s hissing at him, and he tenses up immediately in fear. “N-no. You’re right- I should eat breakfast.” He says quickly, tries to make himself appear meek, and when Rhys looks up again Jack is smiling.

“That’s better.” He purrs out, his voice disgustingly sweet, and Rhys hates the way he relaxes from that. “You want anything specific today, or can I choose?”

“Please choose.” Rhys answers, because it’s always best to let Jack choose than to have him look all agitated at Rhys acting like he knows himself. At the growing smirk on Jack’s face, Rhys lets out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says automatically, and Jack strokes his lips.

Abruptly, Jack grabs at his hair and tugs his head back and Rhys cries out from the painful angle. He’s still being shoved back, his neck being unbearably bared, and he feels Jack gentle kiss along the smooth expanse of his neck. “Nice tattoo,” Jack says, as though he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying, “but I think ya need somethin’ else on here, pumpkin.”

With that, Jack shoves Rhys back and he hits the headboard _hard_ from the shove. Jack’s getting up and he’s gone, off to the kitchen to make something to feed to Rhys. It’s _very_ difficult for him to eat without his cybernetic, and Rhys looks over to the ruined arm in the corner with a longing gaze.

He presses against his empty side, strokes over it, and he looks down at the sheets with a furrowed brow and a frown when Jack’s words finally hit him.

What else could he need on his neck?

* * *

It’s… really, really early morning when Rhys finds himself being woken up by strong hands wrapping around his throat. He’s wide awake almost immediately, and he’s staring at his attacker with a panicked gaze.

It’s dark. It’s really, really dark and Rhys doesn’t know what’s going on or who’s straddling him, but there are hands around his _neck_ and he’s just woken up. His chest rises and falls frantically, and his eyes ever so slowly adjust to the darkness.

In the dark, something silver gleams from the faint rays of light that filter in from the only window in the room, and Rhys recognises it as Jack’s clasps. Or, so he hopes they are, anyway.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” A familiar voice says, and Rhys relaxes considerably despite the hands on his throat. “How are _ya?_ Sleepin’ all nice?” Rhys nods, not trusting himself to speak after that scare, and he can make out Jack’s grin even in the darkness. “Of course you are. Who wouldn’t be in Handsome Jack’s home, eh?”

Rhys doesn’t know what to say to that, and Jack luckily doesn’t expect an answer. “See, Rhysie, you should be _really_ grateful for me today. Wanna know why?” Pitifully, Rhys croaks out a ‘yes’ when the grip on his throat _actually_ tightens. “I spent _aaaall_ day at R&D—“ _oh no_ “—trying to get _you_ the perfect collar.”

He loosens his grip on Rhys’s neck and shimmies back a little so that bending down is a bit easier. “S’gonna be ready for you this afternoon; aren’t you _excited?”_ Jack exhales on Rhys’s face, and he can’t help but shiver at that. “Yeah, yeah you are. What a _good_ boy you are.”

Something sweet forms in his stomach at his words, and Rhys tries his best to ignore it. His eyes are about to slip shut, but Jack’s grabbing his head and _kissing him._

It’s harsh; there’s teeth digging into his lips and clacking against his own until his mouth opens and gives way, and Jack tastes like gunpowder and fire. He lies there and lets Jack kiss him, lets him rub at the walls of his mouth and at the roof of his mouth, and lets him take and take.

They part to breathe, and Jack is taking in big breaths of air before he’s kissing Rhys again. His teeth dig in too deep into his lip, and Rhys tastes the blood alongside the ash and metal. He doesn’t know how many more times Jack kisses him, but the man finally backs away with blood that practically glows in the darkness.

“Good boy.” He sings, and he finally gets off of Rhys and leaves the room. He winks at him before he leaves, and Rhys closes his eyes and lets himself drift off into sleep once more.

He dreams of guns and gold.

* * *

When he wakes up, way later, Jack isn’t there. He curls up on his side and instead finds _some_ way to distract himself. He starts humming, tries to sing to himself, and he’s surprised he’s not hungry right now.

Maybe he can – no, no, he’ll bother or anger Jack if he asks him for anything more than what he has. He closes his eyes and tries to busy his mind somehow. Maybe he can sleep some more? Maybe he can try to make music with his chains?

It’s a stupid idea, but the sounds will distract him from his thoughts, from thinking too much about what is happening to him and from Jack.

At the thought of Jack, all the tension in his body seems to melt away and Rhys buries his face in the pillow.

His lip still hurts, and Rhys smiles so wide that his skin splits and hurts even further.

There’s a warmth settling deep in his chest and spreading from his arm all the way to the tips of his fingers, and Rhys tries to suffocate himself in the pillow.

If Jack finds him doing that, he’ll get angry.

* * *

Jack’s humming, bursting with energy as he makes his way into the room. He stares at the window briefly, frowning when light seems to still filter in despite the curtains, but his frown is immediately gone when he looks at Rhys. He looks behind him, at the window, and he looks back at Jack almost immediately when the bed dips.

“Hey there, cupcake,” he coos, one hand coming to cup Rhys’s cheek and he strokes his skin. “Missed me?” Rhys nods without even thinking about it, and Jack’s grinning wide, pleased. “Missed ya too, princess. Now, remember that little gift I promised you, huh?”

When he nods, Jack tsks his tongue. “Actually answer me, pumpkin. Don’t want the silent treatment _today.”_

“I do- I mean, of course I remember.” He fumbles a bit, and he rubs at his face trying not to think about the fact that he did. “Did you get it?” he asks, voice shaky and uncertain when Jack doesn’t say anything else after that.

Jack’s watching him, intently, eyes roaming over his mostly naked body and Rhys wishes that he can drape the blanket even further on himself.

That’s still uncomfortable, and something in him chastises him for his discomfort. It _shouldn’t_ be uncomfortable by now, but he’s still flushing at the idea of Jack seeing his naked body, seeing him without—

Nevermind.

Something clasps around his throat; it’s weirdly thick and tight on him, and it takes him some time to _actually_ remember that Jack went and got him a collar. That is what he promised him, and he’s momentarily grateful that Jack can’t read minds.

“Whaddayathink, a tight fit?”

“It’s… really tight.” Rhys admits, and he swallows and tenses up as he feels the collar constrict on his throat as a result. “I want t-“ he can’t finish his sentence. He gasps out and goes completely lax as his nerves start to _sing_ with pleasure. He shivers, fingers digging into his knee, and he softly moans. “ _Feels—good.”_

Jack laughs. He cradles Rhys’s face and brings him close, teeth like knives as he grins and forces him to look into Jack’s eyes. “Yeah? Dopamine, baby. You be good for me, let me do _whatever_ I want to you, and that little collar will make you feel _even better.”_

Rhys’s eyes widen at that. “Will—will it really?” he asks, the words escaping him like honey, and Jack’s groaning.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Jack purrs out, his thumbs stroking under Rhys’s eyes and his grin is so very beautiful. “Just listen to _me_ and make _me_ happy, and I’ll make sure you’ll feel good too.”

He smooths his hands over his shoulders and moves down to kiss Rhys’s neck, above where the collar rests, and he bites at the area where his neck curves up to form his jaw. “Just listen to _me._ You got that, Rhys?”

“Just listen to me.”


End file.
